


Finally, All Connected

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Every man for ourselves [5]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Only a scent of a crossover, oh yeah finally the sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7447810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's taken them long enough to get to this point, hasn't it?</p><p>Takes place straight after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7433812">Joint Protection</a></p><p>James Bond is in this only in their memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Someone cleared their throat behind them. “Aramis?” Charles murmured.

“Porthos,” Olivier said, sitting up without hurry. “Did you enjoy your run?”

“Yeah.” Paul was freshly showered and smiling, ridiculously handsome, but so what else was new? “Aramis thought you might like something cold to drink.” He had two long glasses of fruit juice—hand-squeezed by Aramis, no doubt.

Olivier held his hand out for one. “Charles? Do you want some?” He handed it over, then took a moment to swipe at his eyes. Charles’s eyes were still red, but he was smiling without strain. Paul gave Olivier the second glass.

“Lunch won’t be long. You want to eat out here or inside?”

Olivier assessed the way Charles was sitting. “Inside?” Charles nodded. “Inside might be best.”

Paul nodded. Olivier didn’t miss the way he too was assessing the pair of them. “You okay?”

“We’re good,” Olivier said, touching Charles’s shoulder. “Yes?”

“Yeah, we are. Thanks for the drink.”

“You’re welcome, pup.” Porthos gave his young friend one of his brilliant smiles, and went back inside.

Olivier was in no hurry to move. They could sit thigh to thigh all day as far as Olivier was concerned, although Charles must surely be feeling a little numb in the nether regions. But just as he was about to suggest Charles move back into his wheelchair, Charles put his hand on Olivier’s arm and just _looked_ at him, and Olivier couldn’t move. Not at all. He could drown happily in those eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

 _For giving me a reason to stop drinking. For saving my life._ “For coming back.”

Charles smiled. Olivier had the feeling he knew what Olivier hadn’t said. “Bond told me we four were idiots for being so close. That connections make us weak.”

“They do. But they also give us strength, and in the end I would rather be strong most of the time with those I love, than strong all the time and alone.”

“Boss...you know this job means someone’s always gonna get hurt, don’t you? You can’t save us, or protect us in favour of anyone else, right?”

Charles was just too bloody clever for a kid his age. “I was a major in the army. At that rank, you’re inevitably putting people you like, people you’ve come to care about, in harm’s way. And inevitably, some of them don’t come home. Men like Porthos, dear to me as a....” He nearly said ‘brother’ but that was too raw. “Dear to me as any friend died, or were maimed.”

“People you loved?”

“I’ve always made decisions for this team, for men under my command, based on what was needed. I give no favours, and expect none. My wife went on missions with us. She went undercover for us. Do you think I was unaware what she was doing, and what danger she was in?”

Charles looked down as he mentioned Anne. Of course Charles hadn’t known either of them then. “Did it hurt?”

“I worried. How could I not? I worry whenever any of you are out there, with or without me.” Charles nodded, still not looking at him. “When you lead your own team, you’ll know what I mean. And if the day came where I said to myself, ‘not this one, or that one, because they’re too precious for me to lose’, that’s the day I quit the service completely.”

“I don’t want to lead. I couldn’t do it. I’d die to save any one of you, but I can’t accept any of you dying for me. I’m not a soldier.”

“You are. Just in our war, we don’t wear uniforms.” Olivier stood. “This is a sad conversation for such a fine day, when we’re celebrating your escape. Aramis said he was going to make bread rolls by hand for you.”

“My favourite.”

“Yes, we know. So, shall we go inside?”

He put his hand on Charles’s shoulder, and Charles clasped it tight. “Yes. Thanks, Athos.”

“You’re welcome. Now, can you...? That’s it.” Together they slid Charles into the wheelchair. The topic of a nurse had yet to be raised. Later would do.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Aramis had provided a feast. A delicious salad with pine nuts and tomatoes, frittatas with roasted peppers and cheese, and warm grain rolls with fresh butter, teased the palate and excited their appetites. Ice water with lime juice and mint went down nicely too.

Charles picked at everything, ate enough to keep Aramis happy, smiled at all of them. And every so often his warm brown eyes and sweet smile would land on Olivier, and Olivier’s heart would flip-flop. It was absolutely pathetic how much this kid, this genius man child, meant to him. If only Olivier had a less broken, cynical soul, if he had never met Anne, if Anne was decently dead and not this monkey on his back, he would fling caution to the winds and throw himself at Charles’s feet.

But he wasn’t, and he was Charles’s boss. Infatuations were for children, not middle-aged men with addictions barely under control.

He looked up and found Aramis staring at him, frowning. “What now?”

“Nothing, my friend. Charles, it would do you no harm to lie down for a bit, give your ribs a rest. You don’t need to sleep. The sofa would be fine.”

Charles sighed heavily. “I am going to be so unfit when I get over this.”

“It won’t take long to bring you back,” Paul said. “You gotta let yourself heal though. Don’t be a twit about it. Right, boss?”

“Listen to the man. He knows what he’s talking about.”

“‘Sides, I gotta kick your arse sometime at Call of Duty, don’t I?”

Charles’s face lit up. “The new one?”

“Yep. New Tomb Raider and Assassin’s Creed too. You up for it?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“This is the bit where the old people go for a long, restorative walk,” Aramis said, winking at Athos.

“Let me get my walker, dear. Don’t let me wander too far from home. You know how forgetful I am.”

“You’re going out?” Charles said, his smile faltering.

“For the sake of my sanity, yes.”

“But...we don’t have to play today. If it’s annoying, I mean.”

Aramis, next to him, patted his shoulder. “I was counting on you to keep Porthos out of my hair for a couple of hours, actually. I really do want to go for a walk.”

Olivier looked between his three friends, and caught Aramis’s little frown. “Me too. If it wasn’t so hot, we could go for a run.”

“Tomorrow,” Paul said meaningfully. “I mean, if you’re talking about any of us running to fat.”

“Right now, you can do the dishes, Porthos,” Aramis said, moving away from the table. “See you later, boys.” He grabbed Olivier’s arm. “Ready, dear?”

“Yes, darling.” Olivier feigned being old and slow until he was in the lobby, then followed Aramis out of the door. “What in God’s name was that all about?” he asked as soon as they were on the pavement.

“He needs to rest his ribs, and not spend the afternoon mooning after you, my dear oblivious leader. Now, come for a walk. We both need it.” He headed along the road in the direction of the park

“I thought you wanted me to talk to Charles.”

“I did. You did. Now, have a break. I saw you trying to convince yourself into a right old mess of guilt and duty over lunch, and I’m not having it. Not when Porthos and I worked so hard to help you relax last night.”

“So it was just work, was it?”

Aramis cuffed his shoulder, then linked arms with him. “Prat.”

They walked in companionable silence through the suburban streets, the afternoon sun almost too hot for comfort, but tolerable enough at this pace. Olivier would have to find time for a run, and more. He’d been sitting on his butt for too long.

They walked, by unspoken agreement, over to the stream, for shade and coolness, and found a place to sit. “How are you feeling?” Aramis murmured, not looking at him.

“Better. Good.”

“So why spoil it thinking of all the many ways you are unworthy of our pure, unsullied, virginal Charles. And don’t deny it. I’ve spent seven years learning to read Athos. I know every stupid, self-loathing thought that you can come up with to torture yourself, and I’m here to tell you, they’re all bullshit.”

“Well. There’s nothing to talk about, is there?”

“Athos, do me the courtesy of not pretending I don’t have eyes in my head, and that neither you nor Charles are adept at concealing your emotions. Moreover, there is no reason for you two to hide how you feel from either Porthos or me. We’ve seen you naked, drunk, sick, injured, stoned, sated, furious, sad, grieving, worried, and horny. Frankly, I’m insulted you still haven’t told me how you feel about Charles in so many words, even with all the opportunities Porthos and I have given you.”

Olivier inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled again, and breathed out, “I love him more than life.”

“Finally.”

“But—”

Aramis rolled his eyes theatrically. “Here it comes.”

“Aramis, he’s twenty-six. He’s...undamaged. He’s not had a lot of experience. And I’m an old drunk who he has to obey at work. Madame d’Artagnan would not be dreaming of someone like me for her little boy.”

“Probably not. Anne wasn’t your father’s first choice for you, was she?”

Olivier gritted his teeth. “Not an argument in favour of your point, is she?”

“Only saying you didn’t listen before, so why do you care now?”

“Because she’s still fucking out there and I still love her in some dark twisted way I can’t begin to understand!” Olivier got up and walked away. All the peace of the morning was gone without a trace.

Aramis remained where he was. “Then tell d’Artagnan that you acknowledge his feelings, but you can’t deal with them because of your history. Say _something_ , for the love of God. Stop lying to him and yourself. That’s what I hate. The fact you think it’s better to say nothing than admit the truth. That’s the way back to the bottle and you know it.”

“I’m not going to start drinking again.”

“Lie to me again and tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“I’m not _lying—_ ”

Aramis leapt up, his fists clenched at his sides. “You damn well are! You lied to me about Anne, you’ve been lying about your feelings for Charles, and I know, as well as I know my mother’s face, that you wanted a drink when Charles was hurt. Why do you _do_ this to us? After all these years, Olivier? Do you think so little of us that you imagine we would leave you if you spoke the truth?”

Olivier felt cold, despite the bright sun. “No,” he choked out. “I think so little of _myself_ that I can’t imagine why anyone would stay. I still can’t. Over and over, I’ve let people down. If I’d been a better husband to Anne, maybe she wouldn’t have been tempted. And because of her, I’ve endangered you all.”

Aramis threw up his hands. “In the name of God, why...?” He stalked over and pulled Olivier against him. “You are beloved and needed and trusted, but I swear on the grave of my father, I could punch you in the nose sometimes.”

He hugged Olivier tight, tucking Olivier’s head in against his neck, holding him tight like a child. “The only choices you are responsible for are your own. Anne did what she did, independently of anything you wanted or decided. You weren’t abusive or neglectful and you didn’t enable her deception. She’s not your fault, nor your future. You chose to give up alcohol, and Porthos and I both saw how hard that was, knowing what pain you carried. Still carry. If you stumble, we will help you. If you fall irrevocably, we will do what we can, but it would be your choice, ultimately. I don’t think you will. In fact, I know you won’t. We trust you so much more than you do yourself. _Mi amigo, mi querido_ , we love you and we believe in you. Porthos would not obey you if he didn’t. Nor would I.”

Olivier couldn’t speak, couldn’t do more than cling to Aramis while his friend held him and soothed him. People were probably staring. Fuck them.

“I just don’t know what to do about him. I love him, but he terrifies me. He’s a clean start and I’m not clean.”

“Charles is not a child. You don’t have to be with him if you can’t manage it. But you can choose to lie to him, or be honest, and trust us to help him through the rejection.”

“I can’t lose him, though. The way it is, I haven’t lost him, and I haven’t hurt him.”

“I think you’ve gone too far to leave things as they are. You can’t keep up the pretence any more. He knows in his heart how you feel. Even if you say nothing more, do nothing more, he knows, and he will always wonder why he’s not good enough, why you don’t trust him with the truth.”

“He’s recovering from _torture_.”

“Yes. I know. It’s a bad time, but maybe it’s the right time too. At least you’re telling me the truth now.”

“I’m really not going to start drinking, Aramis. But I did want to, that night.”

Aramis kissed his cheek. “Of course you did. And since, right?” Olivier nodded miserably. “And it’s okay to say you did. I just hate it when people lie to me. Lying to Porthos should be a mortal sin. He gives his trust to so few. Come and sit.”

Olivier let Aramis walk him back to the seat. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Me too. I hate being hard on you. Except for the obvious reason, of course.”

Olivier was too swept up in his emotional storm to realise what Aramis meant at first. When he did, he groaned. “Do you ever not think about sex?”

“Not even at Mass.” Aramis hugged him to his side. “Now. Charles is clearly expecting to continue this charming closeness you’ve initiated. If you don’t want to do that, you have to be gentle and so very kind. If you do, then the same applies. The choice is yours, Athos. I don’t judge, I don’t advise because you have to decide, not me. Just be honest with him, with us, and let us help either way. But remember this. He is _not_ a child. He’s a capable field agent, and emotionally mature. Just because James Bond chose to treat him like a teenager and Charles was smart enough to play up to it, doesn’t mean he is one.”

“What about my addiction? Don’t handwave it away, Aramis. It’s a lot for anyone to take on. He doesn’t really drink, doesn’t do drugs. Doesn’t have that in him. How can he understand it, let alone cope with it?”

“He knows, of course. He saw you drunk. He knows you’ve been sober for three years. You tell him, and say you’ll understand if he can’t deal. Make sure you mean it though.”

“Will you promise me one thing?”

“If it’s not harmful to you or anyone else, of course.”

“If I fail. If I fall. You get him away, you keep him away. Not just him, anyone in that situation. Don’t enable me, and don’t persuade him to hang around if it’s affecting him. Swear to me.”

Aramis held out his hand, and Olivier clasped it. “On my life. Porthos would promise the same, and Treville if you asked. Constance too. You have friends, so does he.”

Olivier felt his eyes filling again, this time with relief. “Then...maybe I can do it. If I know he’s protected from the worst of me, then I can do it.”

“No need to rush. But you need to speak to him if you’re pulling back because he wants more of you.”

“He can have it all. All of me. God, I love him, Aramis. It scares me to death.”

“That’s not surprising at all, considering. And Anne?”

“What about her? She’s a wanted criminal, a murderer and she killed Thomas. Whatever feelings I have for her can only be perverted and ultimately, harmful.”

“So when you go for this counselling, you’ll talk about this? And not lie, like I know you were planning to do?”

“Why do you even ask me questions when you know everything I think and feel and plan?”

“Because you love me, idiot, and you know I love you and care about you. Will you talk about it?”

“If you insist.”

“Broken minds are like broken bones, Olivier. You can treat them and heal them, or you can ignore them and end up crippled.”

“Why can’t I just talk to you about her? They’re only going to tell me what you would say.”

“With the difference that you can tell them to get fucked without destroying your friendship or damaging your team. I’m not trained. I don’t want to do it either. I don’t want to see the rage and pain you’ll have to go through before you get past it. I’m a bit of a coward that way.”

Aramis was no coward at all, Olivier thought. But he was right on this too. “I’ll talk to them. I promise.” He slumped. “Aramis, I’m exhausted. Can we just have that walk now?”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, my friend.” He took Olivier’s arm again, and they set off on the path to the far side of the park. “Porthos has been dying to play those games with Charles.”

“I know. I wish I could see the point of them, but I suppose I’ve shot too many people in real life. I don’t know how he does it, frankly.”

“Because it’s not real. I don’t understand myself. I suppose when we’re in the nursing home together, he’ll have to find some other senile computer game fanatic to challenge, while you and I drool on Charles.”

“The poor boy. What a future to imagine.” Olivier had never dreamed of living that long.

“Perhaps by then we’ll all be tended by robots and he can play shoot ‘em up games with his nurse.”

“You think too much about the worst things, Aramis.”

“Only when I’m not thinking about sex, of course.”

Olivier grinned. “Of course.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

They arrived back at the house nearly three hours later, having stopped at a patisserie to buy a St Honoré cake, and to have coffee away from Charles so not to torment him. Aramis wanted him to restrict his intake to only a couple of cups in the morning, so Olivier would confine himself to tea when he was around the lad.

Man. Not a boy or a lad or a kid. A full-grown, intelligent man.

But not a lover. Not yet.

As they walked up the path to the house, Aramis kissed his cheek. “Be brave as you always are, dear heart.”

“I’ll do my best. Thank you.”

“Always welcome. In you go.”

Having girded his loins to speak to Charles, it was a little anti-climatic to find him fast asleep on the sofa while Paul read on his iPad. “Flaked out about an hour ago,” Paul whispered. “I made sure he wasn’t lying wrong.”

“Thank you,” Olivier mouthed. He freshened up in the bathroom, then sat on the sofa next to Charles’s head. Paul looked up, saw Charles was under supervision, and went off for a cuddle with Aramis. A couple of minutes later, the two of them went upstairs and closed the bedroom door behind them.

Olivier thought about fetching a book, but instead contented himself with stroking Charles’s hair, gently combing it where it fell away from his face. Charles stirred a little but didn’t wake. From time to time he moved as if trying to roll onto his back or his bad side, only to be brought up short by the pain. Broken ribs were a bitch, Olivier knew that all too well. Not that carrying him out of the compound on his shoulders had done them any good, but Olivier had had no choice, unless he was to leave Charles there to die.

If Olivier hadn’t been there, if Bond had gone in on his own with Charles, would Bond have saved him? Olivier didn’t know. Ultimately, that was why he would be telling Treville to tell the cardinal where to stick it if he was ordered to work with 007 again. Olivier wouldn’t risk his people any more with such an unknown quantity.

His hand drifted without his conscious thought down to Charles’s face, lightly tracing over his forehead, his cheeks. When he realised what he was doing, he pulled his hand away.

“Don’t stop. ‘S nice.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Mmmm. Don’t stop.”

So Olivier put his hand back and kept up the gentle touch. Charles smiled a little, eyes closed.

“You’re still tired?”

“Nnhh.”

“Want to get up?”

“Nnhh.”

“Aramis and Porthos are upstairs, making love.”

Charles opened an eye. “Want to go join them?”

“Not right now. I’d rather be with you.”

“‘S nice.”

Olivier smiled. All that anguish, and yet this was so easy. They already lived in each other’s pockets. What was a little more closeness, when it came down to it?

He slid down to the floor and turned around, so, with a bit of twisting, he could lay his face next to Charles. “Charles?”

“Why aren’t you kissing me, Olivier?”

Why indeed. He leaned in and pressed his lips against Charles’s, deepened it just a little. “I think there’s something you need to know before this goes any further.”

“It’s all right. I can’t have children.”

Olivier’s brain came to a shuddering halt. “What?”

“If we have sex. I can’t get pregnant.”

Olivier fell back, laughing so hard he could feel his ribs creaking. “You little shit,” he gasped. “Here I was....”

“Getting all worked up about how to tell me. I know.” Olivier turned and found Charles smiling sleepily at him. “Kiss me again.”

“I should spank you.”

“Mmm, later maybe. Wear one of your leather gloves.”

 _God._ And he’d thought Charles so inexperienced. He leaned in again and this time, kissed Charles properly. Charles couldn’t embrace him as he was lying on his good side and only working arm, but his mouth and tongue did their best to keep Olivier close to him. Olivier put his hand at the back of Charles’s head and held him tight, taking his sweet mouth as he could only have dreamed of. That he _had_ dreamed of, for years.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Yeah, I know. Just waiting for you to tell me. Crazy about you, boss. Have been from the moment I met you.”

“I thought it was hero worship.”

“For about five seconds, Athos. Then it was about you.” Charles stared into his eyes. “Thought you would never say anything.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Aramis made you, didn’t he?”

“No. He said to make a choice and tell you. I decided, not him.”

“Good. Help me up, please?”

Easier said than done, and by the time Charles was upright, he’d gone white, and all thoughts of kissing or anything else had flown out the window. “Christ, Charles. Let me get something for you.”

Charles clutched at his arm. “No, no. Give me a minute.” He breathed deep in and out, trying to get control over the pain. Olivier held his hand and wished he could do something more.

When eventually Charles could move without agony, Olivier packed cushions around him to support him. “The painkillers would help. Being tight with tension and pain isn’t helping your ribs.”

“I can manage. Just...be with me.”

Olivier let Charles lean on him and put his head on Olivier’s shoulder. Olivier couldn’t even put his arm around Charles because of his shoulder, and wished Anne hadn’t killed the torturers so easily. “Just breathe, love. I’ve got you.” He cupped Charles’s head and waited until Charles was ready.

“Okay?” he asked eventually.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“No, you can stop that. Don’t apologise for being hurt and injured, or needing help. Or wanting me here.”

“I’m _sorry_ because I want to climb you like a tree and I can’t bloody _move_. Boss, were you worried about work? Because I know you can’t show favourites. I never expected that.”

“No, love, not that. Not mostly. Just me and being an old drunk with a psycho wife and more issues than _Le Monde_.”

“Oh. That. I don’t care about any of that.”

“You should. You have to. I’m no one’s idea of a knight in shining armour, Charles.”

“I’m sorry, did I say I was looking for one? I could have sworn I put in an order for a hot looking secret agent with beautiful eyes and a fabulous butt, a gorgeous voice that makes me hard as steel to listen to, and who I’d trust enough to follow to the end of the world? Was that not what I got?”

“Fabulous butt?”

“Oh yeah. Don’t forget the gorgeous voice.”

“What about my voice?”

“Turns me on. I even keep your voicemails to wank to.”

For the second time in ten minutes, Charles forced a laugh out of Olivier hard enough to hurt. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“Oh God. I’m in so much trouble, aren’t I?”

“Yep.” Charles twined his fingers with Olivier’s. “I know you drank,” he said quietly. “I know why, mostly.”

“The psycho wife, mostly.”

“Yeah. She’s still around.”

“Yes, she is. And...I still have feelings for her that I don’t really understand. Not like I have for you. Those are straightforward. With her...I hate her, hate what she did to Thomas and to our team and to the country. But most of my memories are of another version of her, and I can’t erase them, no matter how hard I try.”

“Must hurt.”

“Like hell, if you want to know. It’s like when I was drinking. I wanted the release, but I hated what I was doing. The taste, the way I felt later, the disgust with myself. I couldn’t stop even with all that.”

“Until you did.”

“Until I did. Until I realised that I’d been given a second chance and if I fucked it up, I’d destroy the best thing that ever happened to me. Which was you coming onto my team.”

Charles went still. He lifted his head and stared into Olivier’s eyes. “You stopped for me.”

“For myself, because of you. Because of all of you, but you most of all.”

“Fuck. So if we...you know, if something happened between us...you’d start again.”

“No. That I swear. If I started again, it would have nothing to do with you. And Aramis promised that if I do, he’ll get you away from me because no one deserves to be stuck with a drunk.”

Charles bit his lip. “That’s a lot to take in.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to spew it all over you like that. I was supposed to be taking it nice and slow. Something else you need to know. I can be a bit of a son of a bitch to my friends.”

Charles’s big brown eyes were full of confusion. “You would never hurt me.”

“I might, and you need to realise that. Why do you think I was terrified of saying anything to you?”

“Why did you then?”

“Because...I was hurting you by not saying anything, and I was sick of being too afraid of taking a chance. But if you want me to take it all back, I will. We can go back to being boss and team member, friends but not lovers, and I wouldn’t hold a thing against you. Not blame you, or be angry, or do anything to try and hold you to me. I’ve gone about this all wrong. Fuck it.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Aramis warned me not to do this. Look, why don’t I go get him or Porthos—?”

“They’re having sex, boss.”

“Okay...well, I could bugger off anyway. Go back to Paris. You can stay here, talk to them, and when they go back to work, you can stay at Constance’s. She’s coming down Saturday, you could go back with her. Yes. That would work. I’m sorry, Charles.”

He went to stand, but found his hand held in an iron grip. “No, you don’t.” Charles’s expression was stormy. You don’t get to run away because I’m a little...can’t you just give me five minutes to think? Shit, Olivier. Five minutes. Please?

Olivier fell back down onto the chair. “Don’t cry, Charles. I’m sorry. Bloody hell.” He cupped Charles’s head again and held him close. “I shouldn’t be let out without a keeper.”

Charles said nothing, but his breathing was hard, like he was fighting himself. Or wanted to fight someone else. Aramis would _kill_ him, Olivier thought, if Paul didn’t get to him first. “Hey, come on. I won’t go if it distresses you. Calm down.”

“You can’t run away and pretend it’s something I want. I don’t want it. I want you to stay. I want _you_. But I want to understand everything you’ve said too. Because it matters a lot, and I don’t want to fuck it up or misunderstand. Please, give me a chance?”

“Oh, my love, all the chances you want. All the time you want. All of me, even the horrible bits.”

“I want them too. Don’t go.”

“No, I won’t.”

Charles’s grip on his hand was close to bruising, but he could tear it off his arm and Olivier wouldn’t move. Not until Charles was ready for him to do so. He’d waited so long, he could wait some more now.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis came down an hour later, looking adorably ruffled. Charles still had his head on Olivier’s shoulders, and their hands were entwined on Charles’s lap. Olivier had his face buried in Charles’s hair, and he didn’t move even when Aramis came around in front of them and crouched down. “Everything okay?”

“We’re fine.”

“Charles, are you in pain?”

“A bit. I’m fine.” He lifted his head and looked at Aramis. “You’re an interfering sod and I love you.”

“And I love you too, brat. Where does it hurt?”

“Ribs, shoulder.”

“Then maybe you should change position. Perhaps even lie down again.”

“Not here. Hurts too much when I sit up.”

“It’s really not a good idea,” Olivier confirmed.

“Then the bed, I think.”

“Bathroom first, please.”

Paul had come downstairs too by now, and Aramis enlisted his help, getting Charles into the wheelchair and going with him to make sure he could manage the hoist to swing him in and out of the chair onto the toilet. They were all far too familiar with each other to be embarrassed at bodily functions or nudity, so Paul went with him into the bathroom to help, while Olivier and Aramis went to the kitchen.

“He shouldn’t lie on his side on the sofa.”

“Yeah, we figured that out.”

“And the rest?”

Olivier wiped his face. “I made a mess of things. I think we’ll be fine, but I am so not ever falling in love and having to go through that again. I just dumped everything on him and then offered to run away. I am, without doubt, the clumsiest, most selfish arsehole in the history of arseholes.”

“Want me to talk to him?”

“I think you should. Maybe not tonight, but yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Athos. He’ll manage. I told you, he can cope with a fuck up or two.”

“This was more like a tsunami of fuck ups.”

Aramis lifted an eyebrow. “Even you aren’t that messed up, Athos. What do you want for supper?”

“Anything. I’m not hungry. Not sure what he wants.”

“I’ll make pasta then. It’ll keep if he doesn’t want it, and he can eat it one-handed. Also, threaten to run away again and I’ll stab you with a fork.”

“Understood. Understand me when I say I need a drink right now, I won’t actually have one, but...I need a drink.”

“I know. How about cake?”

“Diabetes instead of cirrhosis? Why not?”

“Then I’ll make tea and you can feed him because I’m sure you’re dying to put things in that pretty mouth.”

“Sex. It’s all you think about, I swear.”

“I occasionally think about God and the optimal way to wrap a compound fracture too, you know.” Aramis grinned at him. “Just because you’re in love, doesn’t mean you have to lose your sense of humour, Athos. It’s essentially a ridiculous business so why not laugh at it?”

Why not, indeed.

He grew somewhat concerned by the length of time Charles and Paul were taking in the bathroom, and the muffled swearing he could hear from both of them. When they emerged, Charles was pale again, and Paul wasn’t smiling.

“That hoist is harder to operate than it looks,” Paul said. “Athos, we’re gonna need a nurse if one of us isn’t here.”

“Then I’ll sort it out. Charles, do you want to lie on the bed? You can sit up a little.”

“Sure, whatever.”

Aramis came up beside Olivier, and frowned. “You need pain relief, d’Artagnan. Willpower isn’t going to cut it.”

Charles nodded. “Porthos, can you help me onto the bed, please?”

Olivier rushed to help, and between them, they got Charles onto the bed, and propped up. Charles was biting his lip by the time they finished, and took the pills and water from Aramis without a word of protest. “Olivier is going to help you have some tea and cake, Charles. You shouldn’t have those on an empty stomach.”

“‘Kay.”

They had set up a little table next to the sofa bed, where Aramis put the mug of tea and piece of cake. Olivier took the glass from Charles when he had swallowed the pills, and offered him the plate with the cake. Charles poked at the cake with his fork, but the pastry proved elusive as he tried to lift it to his mouth. He pushed the plate away. “‘M not really hungry.”

“And here I was, hoping to feed you. Cake will do for now.”

Charles’s eyes opened wide. “Did you just...?”

“When Bond was making up a sexual history for you, I nearly came in my underwear.”

Charles grinned. “Oh yeah. He got a little close for comfort for me. ‘Cocksucker’, yeah right.”

“Think there was a little projection going on there?”

“I hope it wasn’t wishful thinking. Q’s welcome to him.” He shuddered. “He was creepy as fuck when we were undercover. I mean, while he was playing my sugar daddy. He didn’t try anything.”

“Good. I won’t have to have him assassinated then. So...indulge me?” Olivier got a decent amount of the cream and flaky pastry on the fork and lifted it to Charles’s lips. Charles took it, and delicately licked his lips. “Oh God,” Olivier breathed.

“Not fair, boss. We can’t do a damn thing while I’m in this state.”

“Either you lack imagination or experience, but I assure you, there’s plenty we can do. Only if you want it though.”

Charles pouted, inviting a kiss. Olivier accepted the invitation, running his tongue lightly over Charles’s. “You have a lovely mouth.”

“You know when I said I wanked to your voice, where do you think I thought about putting yours?”

“You can have it anywhere you please, love. More?”

Piece by delicate piece, Olivier fed his lover, stealing kisses in between, and tasting the cake on Charles’s lips, letting Charles taste him as well. The pain lines between Charles’s eyebrows eased, and his smiles became less fleeting.

But Olivier realised the room had gone suspiciously quiet. “They’re watching us, aren’t they?” he murmured against Charles’s ear.

“Uh huh. For the last five minutes. Pervs.”

Without turning his head, Olivier said, “Gentlemen, the first five minutes were free. Now it’s a euro a second. Or you can piss off and give us some privacy.”

Porthos’s hearty chuckle greeted that suggestion. “I dunno, Aramis. You got a hundred Euros on you?”

“I think we should save our money and go cut the grass. Charles, how’s the pain?”

“What pain?”

“Excellent. Athos, you know where we are.”

Olivier heard their footsteps as they walked out to the garden, and Paul’s explosion of laughter as Aramis said something too low for Olivier to hear.

“I will _never_ hear the end of this,” Olivier said, grinning.

“Payback for all the heart to hearts I had with Aramis.”

“You told him about how you felt?”

Charles raised an eyebrow that implied Olivier was a little hard of understanding. “Have you ever been able to keep a secret from him? I mean, anything?”

“No. He even knows when I’m trying to. It’s very annoying.”

“Well then.” Charles pushed the plate away. “Thank you, I’m full.”

Olivier laid the plate aside. “Are you really in no pain?”

“A little. Much better now. I really hate this though.”

“I know. You'll be surprised how much better you’ll be in a few days. I was thinking, I have plenty of leave. I could take a week or two off.”

“For me?”

Olivier took his hand. “For us. If there’s an emergency, well, then I’ll have to make other arrangements, but otherwise I see no reason Treville would refuse me leave. Would you like that?”

“I feel bad you would use your leave just to look after me.”

Olivier lifted Charles’s hand and rubbed his beard across it. “It would be....” He paused to kiss Charles’s knuckles. “My complete pleasure.”

The way Charles smiled at him made him feel like he’d just been awarded the _Légion d’Honneur_.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Supper was a simple dish of pasta with a cheese sauce, with more salad. Charles ate more heartily than Olivier expected, and kept smiling at him all through the meal. Olivier’s heart was lighter than a feather, lighter than it had been in years, even since before Anne. It was like being drunk but without all the shit that went with it, all the shame, the mess, the loss of control. This was only pleasure, a pure and uncomplicated joy. Dear God, why had he waited so damn long?

When the meal was done, Aramis cleared his throat. “Athos, I assume you’ll be sleeping downstairs. If not, one of us will have to. Charles can’t cope with the bathroom on his own just yet.”

“Of course I’ll be down here. Where do you want me to sleep, Charles?”

Charles flushed. “With me?”

“Are you sure that’ll be comfortable?”

Paul clapped Olivier on the shoulder. “You’ll sort it out, you two. Now, let me clear this up and you guys make our pup comfortable. An early night sounds good to me.” He waggled his eyebrows at Aramis across the table. Olivier smacked his hand.

“Sex fiend.”

“Yeah, it’s official and everything.”

Half an hour later, Olivier and Charles were properly alone downstairs, Charles under the covers, and Olivier sitting at his bedside. “Do you think it’ll be okay for you if I sleep next to you? I can sleep on the sofa.”

“Here, if we can. I’ve been waiting so long and I don’t want to wait another night.”

“We have plenty of time, Charles.”

“Do we? What if on the next mission, no one turns up to save us? I’m sick of waiting, wasting time. Get in here, Athos.”

The sound of his nickname/codename never sounded sweeter. “One thing,” Olivier said as he stripped down to his underwear. “Please don’t call me boss in bed.”

“All right.” Charles looked so innocent. “How about Daddy?”

Not so innocent at all. “That spanking I promised? I only need you to be fit enough to bend over, puppy.”

“Your fault. You keep calling me _that_.”

Olivier ran over what he’d said. “Ah. Yes. I suppose...I shouldn’t.”

“Not in bed, _boss_.”

“Not in bed, I promise.” He slid carefully in beside Charles, not putting his arm around him to cause any stress on his ribs or shoulder, but clinging close to his side. “Happy?”

“I could be happier. But yes.” Charles turned his head. “Kiss me. Never stop kissing me.”

“That could be awkward next time we meet Treville.”

“Eh, he’ll cope.”

He probably would but Olivier was not going to encourage PDAs at work. It was unprofessional and distracting, and he didn’t need any more distracting than he already had with these three.

Charles made a sad little whining sound, and Olivier brought his thoughts back to where he was right now. He leaned over and up a little so Charles didn’t have to keep straining his neck keeping it twisted to one side. That position brought him into more contact with Charles’s body, and the more he had, the more he wanted. “Can I touch you?”

“You can do whatever the fuck you want with me. Just don’t go away.”

“I won’t. Promise me you won’t move or try to help. Tonight, this is all about you.” He started to move down but Charles had a grip on his hair. “Ow.”

“It’s about us, always about us, or I don’t want it. You promise.”

He bent and kissed Charles’s bare chest. “I promise. Making you feel good will make me feel like a god. Understand?”

“Okay. Just so you know, I’m not usually selfish in bed.”

“You have special permission to be utterly selfish until you’re able to move. I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.”

“Oh yeah,” Charles breathed, then licked his lips in a way that was starting to drive Olivier mad with lust every time he did it. “With interest.”

“Good, now that’s settled....” He kissed his way carefully down Charles’s lean and still badly bruised body, licking at the purpling marks, tasting the salt on his skin and wishing he had some magic that would remove the pain. Charles kept his hand in Olivier’s hand, encouraging without force, his breath catching and releasing when Olivier found a spot that gave him particular pleasure.

He licked along the edge of Charles’s underpants where they sat over his belly, and teased the treasure trail with his teeth. He mouthed Charles’s cock straining under the cotton, testing the shape of it with teeth and tongue. “Olivier,” Charles breathed, hips bucking a little.

Olivier shoved the underpants down to Charles’s thighs, and put his mouth over the tip of his erection, sucking it and licking at the slit. Charles’s grip in his hair tightened, and suddenly released with a whispered apology. Olivier didn’t mind though. He suspected he might have a bit of a kink for being forced, though he didn’t know if he’d ever admit it.

“Wish I could see.”

Olivier sat up at that sad little complaint. “Easy.” He propped Charles up again on the pillows and took the opportunity to remove his underpants completely, so Olivier could get his hands wherever he wanted them. He kissed Charles again, using his tongue and letting Charles taste himself. “You like to watch, don’t you? Want to see your pretty cock sliding between my lips?”

“Please. God, please.”

“Tell me.”

“Please, Olivier. Suck me. Take me right in, all the way down.”

“You’d fuck my face if you could, wouldn’t you? You’d fuck me until I couldn’t breathe, and come right down my neck.”

Charles’s eyes were now black, his pupils so distended none of the brown remained. “Yeah.”

“Would you hold my head? Pull my hair?”

Charles grabbed his head and gripped his hair. “Yeah. Like that. Wouldn’t let go until you’d made me come so hard.”

“Then you do that, love. You hold me down there until I give you what you need.”

He deep-throated him, making sure Charles had a clear view of what he was doing, and stroked his hand up and down Charles’s side, over the tender, sensitive skin. The kid was so covered in bruises it was hard to be rough with him, so Olivier stuck to what he knew wouldn’t hurt, like sucking him long and slow and deep, using his teeth ever so gently to tease and torment, his tongue swiping and tasting and helping the suction along. He tasted so good, so gloriously male and clean, and he shivered so prettily under Olivier’s touch, breathing little ‘yeahs’ and ‘oh gods’ and pleading for more.

Olivier got very little warning Charles was about to come, but he swallowed it all, drinking him down and still sucking, less urgently, as the cock softened in his mouth. When he let him go, Olivier laid his head on Charles’s stomach, looking up at him while still stroking and petting him with his hand. Charles ran his fingers through Olivier’s hair over and over, thanking him and shivering still in pleasure.

“And for my next trick,” he murmured, licking his way up Charles’s chest again, before kissing Charles and cuddling close.

“That’s a hell of a first act,” Charles said, grinning.

“Aramis and Porthos taught me everything I know.”

“No, you’re joking.”

“Yes, I am. How do you feel? Painwise, I mean.”

“I can’t feel a damn thing. I think you short circuited me.” Charles’s hand slid down Olivier’s chest. “What about you?”

“Oh I was going to have a little wank thinking about how you taste, actually. You know, after you’d gone to sleep. You wouldn’t want to watch that.”

“You’re a fucking _tease_ , Olivier Valois.”

“Does that mean you would like to watch? Use your words, Charles.”

“Yes, I want to watch. I want to see you use your hand nice and slow while you imagine it’s my pretty mouth sucking you off, with my fingers up your butt fucking you.”

Olivier blinked. “Jesus.”

“Too much?”

“Holy shit.” He pushed his underpants off, and stripped off his t-shirt.

“Let me see. Show me your cock, Olivier. Oh, it’s nice when it’s hard. Put your hand on it.”

“Put your hand in my hair again. I love that.”

Charles obeyed, even giving it a little tug. “You really do,” he said, watching Olivier’s cock strain harder in response. “Tell me what you’re thinking about?”

“I was thinking how your lips would be all wet and red and your eyes all big like they are now.” Olivier stroked himself lazily as he spoke. “I’m thinking how I could fist your hair, or hold your shoulders. I’m thinking about you being hard again and your cock between my knees thrusting. I’m thinking about your long fingers, going in and out of me, getting me ready for you to fuck me with that lovely hard cock, if you can stop yourself coming against my thighs. And how I’d cover you with my come, then hold you down and lick you from head to toe until I’d covered every centimetre of you, cleaned you up so I could get you all dirty again. And if you couldn’t hold back, if you’d come all over my legs, you’d use one of those toys Aramis has, and fuck me with it until I was begging you to make me come again.”

His hand had sped up, his legs spreading, and his orgasm folded over him like a wave, his cock emptying itself all over his stomach. He grabbed his discarded t-shirt and cleaned up unhurriedly, letting Charles see him and smell him and know that he’d come thinking of him.

Then he kissed him again. “Like that?”

“You are so beautiful when you come. You have to let me film you doing that and talking to me. I could come just listening to you.”

“I’m sure we have the no sexting talk at orientation, Charles. But the live performance is yours for the asking.”

Charles buried his head in Olivier’s neck. “I love you so much. And you’re such a dirty old man. I love that too.”

“Not that old. And yeah, I love you too. Ridiculously and completely.” He stroked Charles’s hair. “Think you’ll sleep all right?”

“Will you give me a cuddle if I wake up and tell me dirty sexy stories until I fall asleep again?”

“Is this setting me up for being woken up every hour?”

“Wouldn’t do that to you. I haven’t been sleeping too well though.”

“Me either. So maybe there will be a few cuddles and porny stories if you need them.”

“Good. Olivier?”

“Yes, love.”

Charles looked into his eyes. “We’re gonna make this work. I don’t care how fucked up you are. This is you and me now. For good.”

Olivier clasped their hands together between their chests. “For good. For very, very good.”


	3. Epilogue

**[Two years later]**

Aramis desperately wanted to sleep, but not as much as he needed to make sure Athos was still stable after a medical evacuation and a marathon operation. D’Artagnan’s screams as he heard the heart monitor stop still rang in Aramis’s ears. Porthos had held the kid so hard, he’d left bruises.

Athos was out of intensive care and now in a private ward, but it would be weeks before he could leave. Treville would have no chance of getting the rest of them to leave Istanbul before their leader was ready to come with them. The worst of it was that the hostages they had tried to extract from the militants had died in the firefight that had nearly killed Athos.

A doctor in scrubs and cap was reading Athos’s notes at the end of his bed. D’Artagnan lay with his head on his lover’s bed, asleep, still in dirty, bloodstained fatigues. Aramis would have to get him to move and change.

“How is he, d—” The words froze in his throat as he saw who the ‘doctor’ was. He whipped out his knife and held it under her jaw, at the same time, gripping her wrist and forcing her arm behind her back. He pushed her out of the room and up against a wall in the corridor. “Give me one fucking reason not to slit your throat, you bitch.”

“Because it would be murder, Aramis. You’re the good guys. Good guys don’t murder people.”

“For you, I would make an exception.” She hadn’t changed at all. Her tone just as cool, her manner just as calm. “Why are you here? Come to kill him finally?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know where he lives. Why would I come to Turkey to do what I could do with perfect ease in Paris?”

He pushed her down the corridor and into the small private waiting room, kicking the door shut with his foot. He threw her into a chair and loomed over her. “Why are you here then, Anne? Do you think he misses you? He’s moved on. Why torment him further?”

Her luminous green eyes, so beautiful, so unrevealing of her true nature, looked up at him. “I heard he was dying. I came to see for myself, that’s all.”

“That’s _all_? What did he ever do to you that you wish him dead? You’re the one who hurt him!”

“I didn’t say I wish him dead.”

Aramis stared. “Then what do you want?”

“I just wanted to see him one last time. Don’t worry. I had no plans to impose on him, or touch his pretty little man.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s just so sad for you, Aramis. Now, I’m leaving.”

“Like hell.”

A small pistol appeared in her hand, as if from nowhere. He was fast, but nothing like this. “Yes, I am. Unless you want to cause an unholy row here, distress him, and generally do more harm than good, you’ll let me leave.” Still holding the pistol on him and giving him no sign that she was bluffing, she stood up, making him step back.

“You’re a traitor.”

“Such an ugly word, Aramis. How is Porthos?”

“None of your damn business.”

“I suppose not. I’m going. I promise none of you will ever see or hear from me again. I’m getting out of the game.”

“Going to sleep on your piles of blood-stained money?”

“Something like that.” She walked around him, backing up to the door and putting her hand on the handle. “I’m glad he has you all.”

“We would never abandon him, unlike you.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Goodbye, René.”

And with that, she was gone. Aramis knew he should go after her, that not doing so was treasonous in itself. But he couldn’t find it in himself to do it. She was right. Effecting an arrest here, now, would hurt Athos and maybe even kill him. And for almost no benefit at all to France, or anyone else.

So he kept quiet that night, and the following two weeks until Athos was airlifted back to Paris, and the three months it took him to come back onto light duties. He said nothing during the debriefings over the mission disaster, nor to his team mates as they were temporarily reassigned while Athos recovered.

A week after Athos returned to headquarters, Treville called the four of them to his office. Athos, still using a cane, sat down heavily in the only guest chair. The others formed a guard around him. “Gentlemen, thanks for coming. Normally I would speak to Athos on his own, but since it affects all of you, I hope you’ll forgive me talking to you all at the same time. Athos, Anne is dead. The cardinal confirmed it to me personally. I’ve seen photos of her body.”

Aramis’s hand descended on Athos’s left shoulder, d’Artagnan’s on his right and Porthos’s big hand rested lightly on their leader’s—their friend’s—neck. “How?” Athos asked, his voice deceptively calm.

“Executed, probably by her current amour. Broad daylight, in the middle of Naples. There’s no mistake this time.”

Athos inhaled and held his breath, exhaled. A de-stressing manoeuvre. “Her body?”

“Already cremated. We didn’t want to put you through the pain of dealing with it.”

Athos nodded. “Thank you.”

“I have copies of her death certificate for you, as you’ll probably need them for legal matters.” Treville glanced up at d’Artagnan, who didn’t react at all. “I know your marriage was over the moment she killed your brother, but these things have a way of hitting someone anyway, so I’m giving all of you today and tomorrow off. Be back here on Monday. Er...did you want to dispose of the ashes in any particular way?”

“No. She was dead to me long ago. She deserves no consideration now.”

“I understand. If you want counselling, or just to talk, any of you, let me know.”

Athos rose and left the office, the others after him. D’Artagnan spoke to him in a low voice, then Athos turned. “I’m going back to the house. Please...come with me, my brothers.”

“Of course,” Aramis said. “I have something to do quickly but I’ll meet you at the station for the eleven o’clock train?”

“Certainly.”

Aramis waited until the others had walked away toward the lift, then he turned and went back to Treville’s office. “Sir, may I have a word?”

“Certainly. About Milady?”

“Yes. Sir...she came to the hospital in Istanbul, just after Athos was out of surgery.”

“You didn’t report this.”

“No, sir. I confronted her, she said she wasn’t there to hurt him, only to see him one last time. I judged that forcing an arrest would do him harm at a time when he needed all his strength.”

Treville stared at him, disappointed and perhaps angry. Aramis held his gaze until Treville shook his head. “I suppose it hardly matters. Why tell me now?”

“Because...how did she find out about the mission? It was completely covert, nothing ever appeared in the press, and she was there too fast for it to have been the criminal grapevine. So either we have a mole...or Anne Dubreuil worked for us and was working for us all along.”

Treville’s eyes narrowed and he exhaled in a hiss. “How the _hell_ did you work that out? I was only told this morning!”

“I suppose a few things have made me suspicious, here and there. How could the cardinal do that to Athos? Employ the woman who murdered his brother?”

“He wasn’t murdered. He was a double agent. Anne killed him on his eminence’s orders.”

“You’re joking. That’s the most evil thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“There are reasons I’m not going to go into, and the entire thing is well above your level of clearance, Aramis. Now she’s dead, he’s happy with d’Artagnan, let the matter lie.”

“How do you expect me to continue working for an organisation that does something like this to one of its most loyal officers? He nearly _died_ in the service of his country a few weeks ago, and it’s not even the first time!”

“Aramis...I don’t have an answer for you. I work here because I believe in the people in this organisation, and I want to protect them. You, I assume, do the same. But it’s up to you. If you tell Athos, it will be treason, and I can assure you, it won’t be overlooked this time.”

“Is she really dead?”

“So far as anyone knows or will find out, yes.” Treville gave nothing away, but that very lack of expression was answer enough.

“I’ll pray for her.”

“You do that. Wherever she is now, she could do with some prayers. Now, please go with Athos, comfort him, let him say his piece, and put this all behind him. It’s all we can do.”

“Sir. For the record, the cardinal is a stone-hearted son of a bitch.”

“For the record, that’s insolence. Off the record, yes, we know. Good day, Aramis.”

Aramis left the office, and caught the lift to the ground floor. On the way to Porte des Lillas Métro, he stopped in Docteur Variot Square. There was no church close by, but he’d never needed one to pray, just a quiet place. This would do.

He took out his rosary, and bowed his head, praying for Anne Dubreuil and Olivier Valois. _May they finally have peace, wherever they are and whomever they are with._

A few minutes later, he stood and continued on his way to the Métro, and to meet his beloved brothers in arms.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it, ladies and gentlemen. Hope you've enjoyed this nutty idea for a story, thank you all so much for your lovely comments. 
> 
> Now excuse me while I pine over the fact that Season 3 won't be available to me for *ages* ::pouts:: Thank God for fanfiction!
> 
> All comments, corrections and criticisms craved. None of this was beta'd, and I hope there aren't too many mistakes making your eyes bleed


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